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"When dawn spreads its paintbrush on the plain, spilling purple... ," Songs of the Pioneers song from TV show "Wagon Train." Dawn on the mythic Santa Fe Trail, New Mexico, looking toward Raton from Cimarron. -- Clarkphoto. A curmudgeon's old-fashioned newspaper column, cross-breeding metaphors and journalism and art, for readers in 150 countries.

Coffee Grounds

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Nov. 22, 1963

Nov. 22--I was a freshman at Oklahoma Christian...member of the Young Republicans...a Goldwater man. The President was murdered...we took down the political stuff and put up a photo of JFK, draped in black. I wonder if today's bitter, religious right conservatives (who rejoiced when the President failed to get the Olympics and preach from pulpits that liberals are Satanists) would have the class to show respect if the same tragedy happens again.... or would they rejoice with Fox "News"?

Photos by a fellow student who was in Dallas that day.

1 comment:

You mean Faux News? I am so amazed at these people; their hatred for anything different (progressive?) is clouding their vision for success, growth and knowledge. One example is Global-Warming-Is-A-Hoax (Sen.) Inhof. So much proof out there, yet because “liberals” came up with such a notion, he won’t believe it. Or, here’s another weird thing; people are furious with our president for respecting other cultures. They say he should not bow—instead by obnoxious ugly Americans and stand there…

Silence

Meditation

Just out the window,
black silhouettes of trees
remind me of those
halcyon days with you,
when we climbed out of the
cellar toward enlightenment.
Now, at a glance, the wild
birds swing into view,
obscuring the real world
of young men dying
to get home, and the
snow that falls on
our brains stays solid - never
melting into springtime.
On the ferry, we sit and
compare notes as to whom
in life has suffered the most;
men, women, boys, or girls?
Suddenly, in a revelation, you
say it is the Buddha over on
Main, who sits on his plywood
altar, surrounded by plastic
flowers, subjected to all the
passersby, who have never had
a Zen thought of their own…
--K. Lawson Gilbert